Andare, Partire, Tornare

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A day of ups, downs, and a shock to the system

Today - the Saturday that started out really badly, got better, got much better, and then hit me in the stomach with a wee unexpected surprise.

12 midnight - The Bemo and I are still at Jaxxwaiting for their band to go on.

1:30 am - I drive home alone and nearly die due to massive fog on the road. End up creeping along at five miles an hour until I move out of the fogbank.

3:00 am Bemo gets home. I fall asleep and have weird dreams.

6:30 am - Irate roommate knocks on door, phone in hand. It's Bemo's work, wanting to know why he's not there. Bemo irate, wanting to know why the updated schedule hadn't been sent to him, since the version he had clearly showed him not working that morning. I decide that I'm too bleary to safely drive him to work and then proceed to my job at nine am, so plan to call and plead car trouble and go in after Bemo's shift is done.

8:30 am - my alarm goes off. Time to call work. In a weird twist of fate, work calls me, wondering where *I* am. Discover that my hours have been changed to 8-4 instead of 9-5. Tell manager car trouble story. Go back to bed. Have more weird sad dreams, including one of Bemo coming home and kneeling by the bed, sobbing.

11 am - Get up, dress, start to try and function as a human being. Go into work. Busy, but not crazily so. Work peacefully until six-thirty pm.

7 pm - arrive at mom's house to give her the dog tags I made at work. She buys me dinner for her trouble, during which I endure brain-free commentary about the war, the dog, my sister, myself, and any other subject that happens to pop into her tiny mind.

8:30 pm - walk into bathroom to wash up after eating. Notice that there seems to be a something tangled in my hair - probably something off the dog. I tug at it. It doesn't move. In disbelief, I go to my mom, who yanks it out and confirms it.

I fucking have a grey hair. The little bastard is currently in my change purse. I am struggling to remain lighthearted but it's truly freaking me out a little bit. Wasn't this sort of thing supposed to wait until my mid-thirties? Why is my stomach doing slow flops whenever I think about it? Why do I care, anyway - it's not like I didn't know it was going to happen sooner or later.

So I went home, and watched the remainder of Trading Spaces and What Not To Wear with a distracted mind. Now I'm going to go shower, and resist the temptation to furiously check my scalp for other evil grey hairs like a monkey combing for fleas. But I probably won't be able to.

12:32 a.m. - 2003-03-23

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